


Fly Again

by Skalidra



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Wings, Gift Fic, M/M, Minor Violence, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9222338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Shiro is the captain of a pirate ship, and Keith is one of his top lieutenants (among some key other things). Keith, as one of the Flighted, is also the best member of his crew for scouting. He always knew that there was a chance that a scouting mission could go badly, but when it actually happens, while they're hunting one of the Galra's military vessels, it's just a matter of rescuing him as soon as possible.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [borrowedphrases](https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/gifts).



> Hello! So, as my post on Tumblr said, this is a back-up gift for borrowedphrases! You had a lovely list of things you wanted, and I kinda mushed a bunch of them together to make something that I thought you'd be interested in. (Wingfic, pirates, some minor hurt/comfort, etc.) Hope you enjoy!

It was always a possibility, acknowledged down in the depths of Shiro's mind, that one of Keith's recon missions would go badly. He doesn't like to send Keith off totally alone, but his screeching death — as most of the crew calls him, half-jokingly — is fiercely independent and, generally, more than skilled enough to either avoid detection completely or fend off anyone that dares to try and bring him down. Keith may be lighter than a human, to enable the massive wings on his back to lift him, but he's also faster and the small, fairly blunt claws at the tips of his fingers are enough to make him a threat, even without his weapons.

But after two days watching the small island nearby without a sign of him returning to their ship, Shiro has to cede to the uncomfortable suspicion in his gut. The damaged ship anchored at the island itself, its crew scurrying about its surface to try to repair it, must have caught sight of Keith and captured him. He refuses to think of worse scenarios for now; Keith is one of the Flighted, and much too valuable to just be killed. Any crew would try capture before killing, even a Galra war machine like the one they've been stalking for weeks.

That means that somewhere on that island his predator is waiting for him, and Shiro's never left part of his crew behind before (never mind what else Keith is to him). He's not going to start now.

Lance and Hunk, when he goes down to tell them that they're storming the island, already have half of what they'll need ready. They offer him grins as he gives a small, grateful smile, and Lance says, "Might be quieter without him around, but I mean, we weren't going to _leave_ him."

"Thank you," he says, meaning it with all his heart, before he tilts his head to summon them up as he heads back above-deck to call the rest of his crew to him.

Not a one is surprise, and it looks like most of them were already preparing to go anyway. He hides some of how utterly grateful he is for that, for the loyalty of his crew, and sets the assault for late in the night. Silent, on the opposite side from the anchored ship to minimize the chance of detection as they take the rowboats in. The sky's clear and wind has been low since they got here; rowing in should be simple. If they can get ashore without being spotted, everything should run smoothly.

Galra soldiers are deadly in open combat, but not nearly as good at defending themselves from stealth assaults. Keep them off balance or confused and they topple like dominos, and Shiro's _very_ good at that. It's his specialty after all; he's been hunting Galra ships for years.

Night can't come too soon, and he keeps half an eye out just in case Keith was just trapped or something, but by the time night has long since fallen and he's made sure his weapons are all sharpened and the gear ready it's clear that Keith's not going to be coming back by himself. He leaves behind a tiny skeleton crew, just in case, consisting of his youngest crew member, Pidge, and a couple others with recent — minor — injuries. Just enough to provide a distraction and a warning if anyone else tries to take his ship while he's busy.

The rowboats slide smoothly across the water, oars muffled as they're gently rocked by waves, circling around the island to the far side before approaching. His sentries keep careful eyes out for any movement along the beach, but must not see anything because there's no signal to halt. His crew work quickly, quietly, to drag the rowboats up onto the sand and out of sight, and he gives a sharp order for two of his men to stay behind and watch them (and take out any patrolling Galra that might sound an alarm at their tracks) before he leads the rest into the denser jungle that makes up most of the island.

He's just about to split them up and send them out across the island, to find exactly where it is that Keith's being held (the long-distance spying hadn't revealed a cage on the top of their ship, and getting Keith into an enclosed room he doesn't want to be in is just about impossible), when there's a _scream_ from somewhere ahead and to the right of them.

He stiffens on reflex, feels a brief surge of panic, and then Lance (to his right) is doubling over in muffled laughter and he realizes the scream is one that he's very familiar with. Angry, not afraid and not in pain. Someone in that very distinct direction has royally pissed Keith off, and pissing Keith off means hissing and the threat of being bitten and, if he's particularly furious or defensive, _screaming_. The crew calls him 'screeching death' for a reason, even if they mean it mostly fondly.

There's no one on board that hasn't been the target of Keith's aggressive, lunging posturing before, or at least had their eardrums all but ruptured by Keith very loudly voicing his displeasure with something.

He scrubs his hand over his face, as Lance starts to wheeze a bit and Hunk carefully pats him on the back, and shakes his head. He gestures for his crew to follow him, right towards that piercing sound. He takes comfort in the fact that the persistent screaming continues to sound angry, which means that if he is hurt at all, it's not that bad. Also, whether it's intentional or not, Keith's screaming is an excellent beacon. (He would not be surprised if Keith is screaming purely to keep his captors from getting any sleep.)

The sand is smooth beneath their feet, and his crew are good enough to be mostly silent as they creep through the undergrowth, closer to the distant light of what must be fires. When one comes into view, still hundreds of feet away and past trees, he gathers his crew’s attention and then silently commands them to split up and circle around. Lance takes one group left, Hunk takes a second to the right, and he's left with eight men at his back still to approach head on. Better to have the soldiers surrounded.

They move slower now, from tree to tree, as they approach the camp. Shiro draws everyone to a halt when he can finally see the cage at nearly the exact center of it. Hastily constructed, clearly, but it looks sturdy enough and the gaps between the bars aren't large enough to allow Keith, trapped within, to slip through. Keith is twisting in the small circles he can, wings held as far open as the small area allows, head ducked, knees bent and hands curled. The very picture of a _furious_ Flighted.

There's a guard that seems to be assigned to watch the cage, and as Shiro studies the layout Keith lunges at the side of the cage suddenly enough to make the guard flinch before _shrieking_ displeasure at him. The guard cringes, but holds his ground.

The Galra soldiers themselves seem to firmly believe they're alone, because although there's a faint defensive perimeter around the camp, there doesn't seem to be a real watch. (He wonders what Keith told them, if he did, to make them think that he's alone.) He counts enough Galra to match his crew, between the camp itself and the figures he can see scurrying over the ship anchored off the coast, but they're mostly unarmored and lax.

(He also wonders how long Keith has been screaming at them, and if any of them have had sleep since his capture.)

He summons his group close, until he can crouch down with them and order, "You two, head to the other groups. Take two men from each and head out for that ship. I want it taken and the cannons out of commission before we move; we'll wait on your signal. Pass that plan on to Lance and Hunk."

He gets two silent semi-salutes before the two of them head off in opposite directions. He and the rest of his group settle in to wait.

Keith continues to circle, working off of whatever adrenaline is in his system, or sheer stubbornness, to just keep moving. He keeps half an eye on Keith, just to make sure nothing bad happens, and watches the ship with the rest of his attention. A smile curls his mouth when he sees the roaming shadows get yanked down, one by one, and others take their place. Finally someone near one end swings a torch, waving it into the air a couple times, and he snaps his fingers together to bring the rest of the group to attention before darting out of the undergrowth.

Lance and Hunk's groups charge in almost simultaneously, and the Galra are caught completely off guard. Shiro himself goes straight for Keith's cage, letting the rest of his men handle the soldiers as he charges at the guard there who's just drawing a weapon. The guard is slow, clearly exhausted, and he gives a sharp grin as he sweeps him off his feet and then slams the flat of his blade across his face to keep him down.

A hard swing of his blade breaks the chain holding the cage closed, and Keith all but bursts out of it, red and golden hued wings stretching gloriously wide. He tosses a spare blade to Keith, who catches it neatly, before he steps close and loops his free hand around that slim waist.

"Thanks for keeping them awake, babe," he says, and steals a short kiss before he makes himself pull away. "Give them hell."

Keith's grin is as sharp as the steel he's been given, and those wings beat _hard_ , throwing up sand as his predator ascends to circle above the fairly one-sided battle. He watches for one moment, just enough to make sure that the flight is straight and Keith's wings are fine, before jumping into the fray to subdue the remaining Galra.

It doesn't take long.

Once everything is taken care of, they have a decent line of Galra prisoners, stripped of weapons and bound, and a handful of corpses to go with it. Although Keith is standing to the side, wings flicking restlessly, Shiro makes himself take care of the necessities first.

The prisoners are gathered together, away from anything that could be used to help them escape, with crew members set to guard them. More to gather the dead Galra together and burn the bodies; easier than spending the effort to dig holes to bury them all. Cleaner, too. A small group to return to the rowboats and take them back to their ship, before bringing it around to where the Galra ship is anchored so they can easily transport supplies, which is what the rest of his crew is set to do.

Then, finally, he can turn to Keith and take some time to make sure that his predator is alright. Keith is waiting off to the side, out in the sand right in the middle between the water and where the trees start. He trudges over, taking in the very carefully open area that Keith is positioned in. Defensive, wanting to feel free to take flight, and he's definitely not going to comment on that. Keith deserves whatever will make him feel safer, and he knows at least one thing that will.

Keith slips forward the last couple feet, wings giving a small flap to propel him the last bit of space. Keith's fingers curl into the salt-stiff fabric of his coat, pulling him close as Keith pushes up onto his toes and kisses him. He rests his hands on Keith's waist in return, letting Keith control the pace, the strength, everything he needs to. He also takes the moment to feel all of the relief he hasn't let out yet, as he returns the kiss.

"Are you alright?" he asks, the moment that Keith pulls back.

He gets a very small smile, and Keith nods. Feathers flare out, and he lets Keith lift his wings and press them to the outside of his shoulders and arms, the stiff feathers at the bottom brushing his legs. "Lost a few feathers, got a few scratches; nothing big. Thanks for coming for me, Shiro."

He echoes the smile, and presses a gentle kiss to Keith's forehead, very carefully sliding his left arm around his waist. "Of course. You looked cramped, are your wings alright? Stiff?"

Keith grimaces, hands sliding beneath his coat, warm against his sides even through the layer of his shirt beneath. "Yes, a little. It's not that bad. 'M tired though. Hungry. My throat's sore."

"I can help with all that," he promises, closing his eyes as he presses his nose to Keith's hair. "What order do you want things in?"

There's a grumble against his chest, and Keith holds a little tighter for a moment. "How about… Food, while you help me groom, and then sleep? Sleep with me?"

"Whatever you want." He considers the cage, and the amount of sleep Keith probably hasn't gotten while he was trapped here. "Do you want to sleep on the ship, or out here?"

Keith shivers. "Out here," comes the answer, muffled against his chest. "In the sand, just us. Build a fire?"

"I will." He very carefully pulls back an inch, just enough that he can look down at Keith's head. "Let me go pass off command and grab us some food, alright? I'll be right back, then we can go find our own private spot somewhere. I'll take care of you."

"I can take care of myself," Keith grumbles, very reluctantly letting go of him.

"I know," he says, leaning in for another soft kiss. "But I like doing it for you, when you're alright with it." He steps away, giving one last trace of his fingers down Keith's shoulder. "I'll be right back. I swear."

He heads for the rest of the crew to do exactly what he promised, handing off command to the joint team of Lance, Hunk, and Pidge (young but _wickedly_ clever), with a brief explanation. The food he just grabs ingredients for, before he adds a blanket to his load and finally steals one of the wraps of firewood the Galra had put together before their arrival. It only takes a few minutes for him to be back at Keith's side, and they head off along the beach.

Keith leads him far away from the fires of the camp and ships, to the point that he'd think they were alone on the island if he didn't know better. Eventually, they find a bit of the beach where the sand extends further in, in a lopsided circle far enough away from the tide that Keith deems it acceptable. Keith helps him build the fire, to start with, so they've got some light apart from the faint glow of the moon. Then Keith sets the blanket off to the side, drawing close to the fire and fidgeting as Shiro roasts the small basket of fish over the fire.

Luckily, fish cook fairly fast, so it isn't long before he can hand the first one to Keith and then crawl his way around the fire. Keith takes over the 'cooking,' such as it is, as he nibbles at the food.

Shiro carefully arranges himself to sit at Keith's back and to one side, slowly encouraging one wing to spread out more fully so he can see the state of them. Relatively alright at a first glance; though certainly ruffled. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the side of Keith's neck, leaning his head into his shoulder as he starts to run his fingers through the fire-lit, red and gold feathers. Keith gives a pleased sigh, and he smiles and shuts his eyes to better concentrate.

He's done this enough he can literally do it blind, and he likes not having any other input but the feel of Keith's feathers beneath his fingers and how the muscle beneath his head slowly loosens. He smiles and straightens out one of the more major flight feathers at the bottom. Oil slowly coats his fingers as he works, but it's faint and nothing he can't wash off later, or just rub away into the sand like Keith prefers doing. The mental image of how _happy_ Keith gets with a good sand bath is enough to draw a wider smile from him.

"Don't burn the fish," he eventually murmurs, as an idle reminder. Mostly because Keith's gone still and lax under his touch, head tilted into his. Not asleep judging by the sounds he's still making, but certainly relaxed.

Keith starts a little bit at his voice, and then mutters something like a curse and shifts under him, reaching towards the fire. There's a small hiss of discomfort — he double checks how his hands are moving but quickly decides it's just Keith touching something hot — and then the smell of cooked fish much closer to his nose than before.

Keith's shoulder hitches up a bit, and he obligingly lifts his head and opens his eyes. Which is when the fish gets shoved at him. "Eat," Keith demands, eyes narrowed just a little.

He smiles back. "When I'm done with this wing," he counters, softly. "Won't be long, and it'll give that a bit of time to cool down."

He can see how Keith wants to argue, and wants to press the food on him a little more insistently, but then there's a roll of eyes and a small shrug. "Alright, whatever. But as soon as you're done; the other one can wait."

He steals a quick kiss — the angle makes it a touch awkward but he doesn't care — before returning to his task, shifting a bit more to the side so he can reach the last couple of feet of Keith's wings. There isn't much left; the feathers at the ends are longer and take up more room, so it's just a case of making sure that they're properly coated with the water-resistant oil and that none are painfully crooked. Nothing that bad, thankfully.

"I was worried," he admits, looking up to meet the flash of Keith's gaze. "If they'd hurt you, or damaged your wings…” He inhales slowly, very carefully straightening out the last of the stiff feathers. Thinking, for a horrible moment, about the damage he's seen to other Flighted. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Keith watches him for a moment, and then the wing beneath his hands moves, folding in on itself only to extend again behind him. He lets Keith pull him in, wing a comforting and familiar presence around his shoulders. Keith slides a hand around his waist too, dragging him that last inch so they're pressed together. Keith is warm and solid next to him, a steady reassurance that he leans into even before Keith pulls him into a kiss and makes him linger there.

"I'm _fine_ ," Keith says against his mouth, fingers stroking at his side. "It's nothing a little sleep and exercise won't fix, Shiro. I'll be okay."

He has to take another small breath, in and out, before he can dip his head in a small nod. "Okay."

Keith's eyes are reflecting the fire, and he watches the flickering of it for a couple silent moments before Keith's arm pulls out from behind him. The cooked fish, on its 'plate' of a small piece of cloth, is pressed firmly into his hands.

"Now eat the fish; I feel lopsided and I want you to do the other wing soon."

* * *

Shiro wakes only moments after Keith does, roused by the draw of feathers against his shoulder and chest, their weight noticeable through his clothing, though he sleepily mourns the fact they aren't against his bare skin. He blinks his eyes open, squinting a bit at the morning light shining down and then turning his head to look over to the side.

Keith is stretching out, wings as brilliant in the yellow-gold tinge of the morning light as they were by the fire's, and Shiro smiles at the sight. Smiles at the fact that those wings are stretched wide, gently flapping and stirring the sand as Keith arches from one side to another. He's content to just lie there and watch, still mostly beneath the blanket, sand coarse against his cheek but completely beneath his notice. He watches Keith comes fingers through his hair, tugging out small tangles in it even as he crouches down and then _flops_ into the sand.

He has to bite his tongue to stifle a laugh.

Those wings wriggle against the sand, kicking bits of it up into the air as Keith gives a clearly pleased groan, feet pushing into the sand, arms arching up above his head. Keith's going to need an _actual_ wash later, he's sure, but water and wings don't get along very well. It either means Keith holding his wings up and out of whatever water he can bathe in, or just wetting rags and doing it that way, more carefully. Besides, if Keith has the opportunity to take a sand bath, usually he does. The lack of them is one of the costs of Keith living with him, out on his ship.

Shiro rolls over, bracing his arms in the sand his chin on top of them, so he can watch a little more obviously. It takes a good few minutes for Keith to actually notice that he's awake and startle upwards out of the sand, feathers poofing out. He smiles, pushing up from the sand as well and getting his legs under him as Keith scoffs and resettles his wings, cheeks reddening a bit.

"What?" Keith demands, arms crossing.

He shakes his head, and then offers a hand. "Come here?"

Keith pauses for a moment — contrary — before heading over close enough to take his hand and let himself be pulled closer. It's Keith who swings a leg over his hips and sits down on his lap, fingers sliding up his arms and holding onto him. Both wings flick wide again for a moment, as one of Keith's hands comes up and circles the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss. He returns it, as he lifts his own hands and takes Keith's waist to keep him steady.

Keith nips sharply at his lip, and he gives a soft huff of laughter and obligingly parts his mouth so that Keith can deepen things, dull claws scraping over the base of his skull with enough pressure to feel _very_ good. He strokes his hands down Keith's thighs, lightly squeezing at the muscle beneath the pants covering them. Keith gives a pleased, nearly-musical hum of sound into his mouth, before very slowly pulling back and giving a clearer one, shifting on his lap.

He lifts his right hand to very gently stroke the side of Keith's face, running his fingers back to tuck strands of that black hair behind his ear. "Want breakfast?" he asks, with a small smile.

Keith's hand pulls back from his neck, pressing to his chest instead and then _shoving_ him backwards to land in the sand with a small _whump_ of impact. "Not unless you count," Keith mutters, fingers pulling at his clothing with clear determination.

Shiro's shirt is pulled free from where it was still halfheartedly tucked in beneath his belt, pushed up his stomach until Keith's fingers can touch the warm skin of his stomach. Shiro gives a small, pleased sigh at the touch, squeezing Keith's thighs again and letting his eyes close for a brief moment. In that moment, Keith moves unerringly to unbuckle his belt.

"Are you sure?" Shiro asks, though he does absolutely nothing to stop his clothing from being opened up.

Keith gives a crooked smile, wings flicking wide. " _Very_ sure. You got anything to…?"

"No," he answers, a little regretfully. "We can wait till we're back on the ship, if you want? I'm sure the crew can handle the first couple hours without us; they'll understand."

"It's fine," Keith mutters, gaze dropping down to his stomach, hips shifting on top of his again, more deliberately. "We can do that too, later. Right?"

He smiles, curling his fingers around Keith's hips to facilitate the rock of motion down against him. "Do you think I'm going to say no to that? Of course; whatever you want." Keith's fingers slide down, into his pants to cup his cock. He groans, rocking his hips up into the touch and Keith both, and Keith echoes the sound.

Letting go of Keith's hip with one hand is hard, but only for the moment before he can repay the favor by getting Keith's pants undone as well. He's bolder about reaching in since he has more room to work with, and Keith's half-hard and hot within his hand. It doesn't take much to get him fully hard, and a few strokes after he is Shiro lets go of his cock to pull his pants down with one hand. Just enough to expose Keith to the air, and his gaze.

Keith flushes, pausing in his rocking as his wings flicker again, staying wider this time, feathers flaring a little more openly. Shiro slides one palm up Keith's chest, just to feel his breath and the movement beneath his fingers. Then he reaches down, lifting his hips — Keith squawks a bit at being lifted as well, wings flapping once to stabilize him — to push his own pants down enough that they're both bare. He gives a small laugh as Keith rolls his eyes, a hand shoving him firmly back down into the sand.

"What do you want?" Shiro asks, tracing his fingers down the bit of bare thighs he can actually touch, enjoying Keith's smooth, warm skin.

Instead of answering Keith tilts his hips until they're pressed together, twin moans escaping at the hard heat of the other. Keith's hand is smaller than Shiro's, and when he reaches down his fingers don't quite circle all the way around, even with the fairly firm grip. After he's arched his back and grunted out the pleasure, Shiro lowers one of his hands to join the wrap around them. Keith starts the rhythm, hips rocking instead of his hand, cock sliding against his own with every movement.

He can't do all that much, hips held down beneath the weight of Keith, but he rocks them as he can. The rhythm is off between them, Keith pushing forward as he edges back, and there's a small part of his brain that says he should make it match but this is _better_. Keith is panting above him, and his gaze slides, helplessly, across the reddened cheeks, parted mouth, hooded eyes. Until his eyes are drawn to the flare of Keith's wings, sunlight making the edges glow as the feathers extend.

That keeps his attention longer than anything else, with Keith's noises an amazing background to the red-gold glow of those wings. He lifts his hand, unable to stop himself, and cards the very end of his fingers through those feathers. Keith shivers, and he does it again, curling his shoulders so that he can reach the very tops and stroke the softer, smaller feathers at the top as well as the sensitive nerves there.

Keith's free hand lowers, bracing a hand on his chest and back curving down. It lets him reach Keith's wings more easily, lets him get a better angle at those sensitive spots that make Keith moan and fuck harder into the join of their hands. Shiro fights to keep his touch gentle as his breathing picks up in turn, heat building in his gut as Keith slides against him. His fingers are trembling faintly at the effort and he bites into his lower lip, also fighting not to buck upwards because they've had that accident before. Keith is lighter and he _can_ be thrown off.

Keith's clawed fingertips dig into his chest, where it's braced roughly at his sternum. Enough for him to feel the pressure through his shirt, but not enough to hurt. Shiro digs his boots into the sand instead, drawing his legs up so his knees are bent and it feels like he's steadier, even though he has no intention of using that leverage.

If he were actually inside Keith, if they'd had the oil and the time to do this safely, then he would. He'd have his hands on that lean waist and he'd be using some of his strength, or he'd have Keith on his back and be seeing how loud he could make Keith _scream_ for him (this time in a good way). The thought makes his breath catch on a moan, his head twisting sideways as his neck arches, venting the desire that's thick in his veins.

He can't _wait_ to have Keith back on their ship; to strip him down and personally make sure that every single inch is alright.

Keith gives a breathier, soft cry; one he recognizes. The increased pace of the thrusts confirms his knowledge, and he abandons the wing to reach up and slide his fingers through Keith's hair instead, thumb sliding over his cheek and fingers tangling in the locks.

"That's it," he praises, his voice shaking a bit and equally as breathless. He's not going to be far behind. "You're so gorgeous, Keith. So beautiful."

Keith shudders, head pressing into his hand, eyes sliding shut. Those gorgeous wings give a sharp flap, blasting him with a rush of air before they fall back to flicking, still flared out from the pleasure. He swallows and has to shiver himself, gritting his teeth for a moment at the twist of need building in his gut. He just wants to see Keith come first, and be fully aware of it so he can really enjoy the sight. _Then_ he can let go.

He strokes Keith's cheek with his thumb, feeling the harsh breath against his wrist. "Come for me?" he asks. "Let me see you, babe. Let me feel it."

There's a sharp jerk of Keith's hips, off rhythm, and then he gives a louder cry. Keith pushes off of his chest, wings flaring out into brilliant arcs as he arches, head tossing back. He stares as Keith's chest heaves, refusing to let the fast slide of Keith's hardness against his own distract him from the gorgeous picture above him. His hand, dislodged from Keith's hair and face, falls to grip his hip instead, just to hold on.

That's apparently what does it, because the next moment Keith is shrieking towards the sky, wings beating _hard_ down towards the ground and kicking up sand. He risks it getting in his eyes to continue to stare, feeling the wet, hot splash of Keith's come against his stomach and cock but not looking away from the way Keith's mouth is parted, expression strained and then fading into _bliss_.

His own release almost takes him by surprise, and he gives a shaking moan as his eyes flicker, hand tightening on Keith's hip to keep him still. He feels a hand stroke up his chest, brushing his throat, and only manages to pry his own eyes open when it reaches his face, brushing his whitened bang away from his face. Keith is looking down at him, fingers stroking across his temple in gentle lines.

He gives a tired smile, letting his hand pull away from where the two of them are still together. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "That was beautiful."

Keith smiles back, leaning down and pulling him into a soft kiss. Gentler now, and without the sharp nip of teeth from earlier, to make him part his lips. He does it before the prompt now, and Keith's tongue slides into his mouth, twisting with his in a slow, familiar pattern. Keith tilts his jaw up to a slightly better angle, and he gives a small, happy sigh at the contact.

Eventually Keith pulls back, and he opens his eyes again as his mouth curls into another smile. "Do you want to go home now?" he asks, rubbing his thumb into the hollow of Keith's hip.

"Yeah," comes the soft answer. "Yeah, I do."


End file.
